Miss Redmond was the only daughter of an Englishman of wealth, who had bought land in an adjoining glen. Mr Redmond himself was seldom at home—if, indeed, Scotland could be called his home—and his wife was an invalid.
But there was nothing of the invalid about little Jessie, the daughter. Quite a child she was, hardly more than eight, but with all the quiet dignity and easy affability that is only to be found among children of the bon ton.
Archie was simply afraid of her. Kenneth got on better, however. He answered all her innocent but pointed questions, as if he were talking to his grandmother. But Jessie was really asking for information, and Kenneth knew it, so the two had quite a serious old-fashioned conversation.
Well, Kenneth seemed a gentleman born. He sat easily in his chair, he held his cap easily, and behaved himself with polite sang froid. Miss Grant was proud of Kenneth.
But poor Archie looked ill at ease.
Kenneth told Jessie the story of the little black rabbit, and Jessie was much interested.
“What did it look like?” she asked.
Kenneth glanced towards Archie.
“He just looked,” he answered, “as Archie is looking now, as if waiting a chance to bolt.”
This was a very mischievous speech, but Kenneth could not refrain from saying what he thought.